


Getting There

by kiitos



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: M/M, hurray for fic about unnamed characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiitos/pseuds/kiitos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war left it's mark on even the most confident of men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting There

**Author's Note:**

> The two characters in this story are from the Maltravers and Blenkinsop sketch. I've called Farnaby's character, Gerald, and Willbond's character, James.

“General?” The Northern twang is grating as ever and that long stride familiar in its uneven thumping across his kitchen floor.

“Why do you persist in referring to me by title, Gerald?” James sighs, rinsing out a mug under the tap and gazing out across his back garden, actually managing a smile when his elderly tabby cat slinks through the flowerbeds.

“It’s like a nickname.”  Gerald chuckles softly, tap-thumping the rest of the way across the kitchen tiles and coming to a halt behind James, wrapping his arms around his waist and drawing him backwards just a little.

“One that I wish you would drop.” James sighs again as he positions the mug on the draining board before turning to face the other man. His fingers trail downwards to Gerald’s right leg and any smile he had drops when he feels the way his thigh just isn’t there. All that’s left is a painful wound, void of any muscle tissue and a constant source of worry for the both of them, even though Gerald is slightly better at hiding it than he is.

“Sorry Jim.” Gerald murmurs, tilting James’ chin upwards with his index finger and smiling reassuringly. “It’s alright you know, it’s alright to be happy.”

“Is it?” James replies without any hint of belief or faith. He lost all that in France and is slowly trying to recover some of it, but it’s a long time coming and if it wasn’t for Gerald’s frequent visits, he thinks he might have lost himself completely by now.

When he closes his eyes he can hear the screams, the shells, the shots…he can see their faces, their fear, their faith slip sliding away like the mud beneath their feet. It hurts even now, especially when his dreams fade to the image of Peter Blenkinsop, stuck and bleeding and dying in his arms.

“Jim.” Gerald’s northern twang, grating as ever, cuts through his daydreams (nightmares in broad daylight) and he shakes his head to clear the imagery.

“Sorry.” He apologises. “Tea?”

This is how it works; Gerald lets himself in through the back door, finds James wherever he happens to be and pulls him out of his melancholy reverie. Then they have tea and talk about cricket and football and remember fondly childhood and school and first jobs, but never that four year gap that’s a little too raw just now.

But not today. “Not today, Jim.” Gerald smiles softly and pulls him over to his sofa, making him sit and then seating himself close by after some deal of struggle with bad leg and cane and all. James watches him, a little confused and waiting to hear some dreadful news about moving away or not wanting to come around anymore.

But Gerald doesn’t say anything, just manoeuvres the both of them until James is lying on his back on his sofa, staring up at Gerald’s kind eyes and warm smile. It’s actually relaxing and he smiles back, few things make him smile anymore, Gerald and Bessie the elderly tabby cat in his garden are two of them.

Unbidden, a happy sigh escapes his slightly parted lips as Gerald’s hand creeps between them; they don’t do this that often so when it does happen it’s always wonderful. He even arches upwards ever so slightly when Gerald’s palm presses against the front of his trousers.

“Jim?” Gerald actually teases, lifting his hand off and raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t stop you northern bastard.” James huffs, the way he used to.

“Southern Jessie.” Gerald grins, the way he used to when they first met, before the business of war changed the both of them.

James bites his own lower lip as Gerald pulls down his fly and slides a warm hand against his underwear, still too far away but so much better than a moment ago.

“Feel like trying something new?” Gerald asks, pausing once again and making James whine in an ever so undignified way.  He nods, he trusts Gerald with his life and most certainly in matters such as these, but that said, he’s a little perturbed when he finds himself being pushed almost to a sitting position against the arm of the sofa. Gerald pulls his trousers down and off along with his socks and trails a series of soft kisses up the inside of his thigh, causing his skin to jump and twitch beneath rough lips and scratchy moustache, it’s wonderful.

Next thing to go is his underwear, leaving him bare and ever so hard beneath Gerald’s almost wolfish smile. With some difficulty, Gerald leans over and kisses him hard, stealing his breath and making him gasp and pant. Of his own volition, he pulls his jumper and shirt up and over his head, sending it to the other side of the room and smiling when Gerald’s eyes rake over him.

“So what’s this new thing then?” He asks after a moment. Gerald says nothing but shoves a cushion under his hips and offers him another of those attractive wolfish smiles. James frowns and opens his mouth to speak again; all words die on his tongue in favour of a strangled moan as Gerald leans down and slides his warm mouth over James’ cock.

Oh. That _is_ new and he grips the material of Gerald’s shirt at his shoulders, gasping soft moans and squirming just a little. Gerald’s mouth is hot and wet and a welcome firm pressure against his desperately hard by now cock.

“Christ, Gerald.” He moans, arching his back and watching in awe at the way Gerald’s mouth works him up and down, it’s absurdly erotic and he bucks unexpectedly. Gerald coughs and backs away and he pulls a face.

“Sorry.” James murmurs, sitting up slightly and stroking Gerald’s cheek until he stops coughing. “I won’t do that again.”

“Better not.” Gerald growls and pushes him back down, pinning his hips to the sofa and returning his mouth to James’ cock.  James moans, it’s just perfect, so perfect. The way Gerald sucks on his cock, his tongue teasing over the tip and lips tightening around the base as his fingers tease the expanse of skin just between his legs, driving him completely wild and making him _moan_. 

“Gerald.” He groans, fingers curling into the other man’s hair, no longer bound by army regulations and growing just a little bit wild. He tugs just a little, trying to gain more contact , trying to get closer, _more_.

Gerald actually smirks around him and tries an experimental sounding hum, the vibrations of which feels ridiculously good and makes James gasp in near shock. His hips jump but Gerald holds him firmly in place (which in itself feels absurdly good.) His moans become more and more wanton as he gets closer and closer and then…Gerald stops.

“What…?” He begins to whine but Gerald surges up to kiss him.

“Do you trust me?” He asks and James can do nothing but nod. He always has done and always will but he suspects that agreeing is going to lead to very interesting developments. He isn’t disappointed as Gerald presses a finger against his mouth and requests entry; dutifully he parts his lips and runs his tongue over the warm skin. Gerald’s eyebrows quirk in a most interested way and he gives in just a little and sucks, closing his eyes and laving that finger with attention. When he opens his eyes again Gerald’s eyes are large and dark, a look on his face that makes his stomach jolt with anticipation.

Gerald never takes his eyes off him, even as he returns to sucking on his cock and James finds himself just a little nervous. He can feel Gerald’s fingers between his legs and he isn’t quite sure what to expect…until that finger pushes gently against him and he gasps, willing himself to relax almost immediately. They haven’t done anything like this since those hurried and desperate affairs in the trenches and that was out of a grim kind of necessity. This is out of mutual affection and desire and _oh Christ_ when that finger is inside him.

He pretty much whimpers, completely at Gerald’s mercy as he continues to work his cock with his mouth and press against that particular spot with the tip of his finger. It isn’t long before James’ stomach is tightening and he tries to pull Gerald away, but the man stays firm, continuing to encourage him to glorious conclusion. 

He _howls_ as he comes, eyes closed, back arched upwards almost painfully as he empties himself into an apparently very willing mouth, still swallowing around him and making him utterly breathless. When he finally flops into a boneless pile, he looks down blearily, seeking to return the favour only to find sticky wetness and a sheepish smile on his lover’s face.

“Well that was very attractive to watch.” Gerald shrugs in explanation and James actually laughs. His arms lift up and he carefully (always mindful of the leg) pulls the man down and hugs him tightly, something Gerald is very happy to return. They stay like that for what feels like hours, wrapped around each other and just enjoying the closeness.

“Gerald?” James manages to murmur after a while.

“Hm?” Gerald ever so eloquently answers.

“Love you.” James says quietly, one of the truest things he’s ever known since Gerald is all he has. The only person who bothers to try and help him when his memories and nightmares get a little bit too much and all he wants is to give up and break down; Gerald is always there with a soothing word and a mug of tea. Even if it is strong enough to stand the spoon up in, James always appreciates the effort, especially when it’s followed with other most enjoyable activities.

“Love you too.” Gerald mutters against his neck, and it’s always lovely to hear his gruff northern voice utter such things. “But we should get up.”

“We should?” James asks, confused.

“We’re going for dinner at Peter and John’s house, remember?” Gerald explains slowly, lifting his head to carefully study James.

James frowns and recoils, beginning to panic, going outside is not a thing he likes doing but Gerald shushes him with a kiss. “It’s alright, it’s all alright.”

“I…it’s my…” James begins, lifting a hand to indicate the problem.

“I know, I know.” Gerald whispers, softly trailing butterfly kisses down the line of scar tissue, slashed angrily across James’ cheek and nose. The result of flying barbed wire, sent scattering from a shell hole to tangle fiercely across James’ skin. “But its Peter and John, they understand.”

James knows he’s right, he does, but it’s still difficult.

“Do you want to stay in?” Gerald asks, but James shakes his head determinedly. Enough is enough.

“No, let’s go out.” He says assertively, reaching for his underwear and trousers, trying not to blush at the proud smile on Gerald’s face.

“If anyone says anything, I’ll whack them with the cane.” Gerald chuckles as they head out the door, smiling at Bessie the elderly tabby cat as she chases butterflies. She mewls at them as they tap thump their way down the garden path and onto the lane, not quite happy, not quite healed, but getting there.


End file.
